Blossom's Revenge
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Sequel to Flying to Die. Smuggled cocaine is still causing trouble for the Lieutenant commander and her daughter. Starring the gang, with Paula, Kent Fuller, and Blossom the Spaniel.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I don't own anything to do with NCIS, not even a mug like Cheekymice's…. I don't make any money from this or any of my stories about NCIS… or any of my other writing for that matter. (Sigh….)**

**I also know absolutely nothing about the workings of Swiss Banks. Although I do know how to bake a Swiss Roll.**

Blossom's Revenge

by scousemuz1k

Chapter 1

The little black-and-white blur scampered across the grass and bounced to a halt, putting her forepaws up against the tartan blanket. The man in the wheelchair put his hand down slowly, oh so slowly, to greet her. "Blosm," he muttered, smiling, "Lo, Blo…sm…" The helpful nurse positioned the wheelchair beside one of the many benches that were dotted about in the beautiful summer garden.

"I'll see that someone brings you a drink," she said to the men following her. "I know you've come a long way. Let me know when you're going to leave, and I'll come and take care of Larry." She smiled at the two good looking visitors, and one of them made the effort and smiled back. The other sat down beside the man in the wheelchair, and only then made the effort himself. It came over as painfully forced; Kent Fuller didn't really feel like smiling.

"Hi, Larry," he said cheerfully. "I brought Blossom to see you again." The other man's head turned towards him for a moment, but there wasn't a flicker of recognition, or even acknowledgement there. He turned back to stroking the head of the Springer bitch who by now had jumped up onto his knee and was regarding him expectantly. "Blos…" he said, and she licked his face.

"I'm sorry I've not been to see you for a while," Kent went on, knowing that Larry Pearson didn't comprehend what he said, but he'd been told that the sound of voices was good for him. "I can't drive right now, see…" he gestured with the sling on his right arm. "My shoulder didn't fix so good, they had to do it again. They reckon it'll be OK this time though. DiNozzo brought me." He gestured again, towards the other man who'd been sitting quietly, regret on his face. Pearson didn't even react, just went on stroking the little dog's coat. "Blosm…" After a while he dozed off to sleep, and only then did Fuller talk about him instead of to him.

"They reckon this is the best it'll get," he said sadly. "They're surprised he came this far after the amount of damage that was done."

"He doesn't know you or me, but he remembers Blossom," Tony said. She had curled up on Pearson's lap, and was dozing like him.

"They're not even sure if he remembers, or if he just took to her when I brought her to see him the first time." He sighed deeply. "He knows about ten words… 'book' – he likes childrens' books with bright colours," He indicated the bag that Tony had carried for him, and the NCIS agent looked inside. There was an assortment of cheerful books and infant jigsaws inside. "He can say 'saw'; he loves them, although they tell me he's never completed one yet. He knows 'dinner', and 'sleep', and a few more, but he's stuck at that."

Tony nodded. He didn't want to sound disparaging, and said tentatively, "He seems to have put on some weight."

"He's being well looked after, Tony. He may not have been the sharpest knife in the box as agents go, but he was one of mine, and I wouldn't see him neglected in some dump because he's not able to speak up for himself. He loves food, and if it's manageable stuff he can feed himself. But he can't stand unaided, and he never will, so he gets very little exercise." He shook his head. "They take him swimming sometimes, but he's a bit nervous of the water, so they have to be careful. Blossom went in with him once. He liked that. They try to keep his diet healthy, but the fact is, that with his tendency to carry weight in the first place, he'll put more on. Bottom line… they give him between five and seven years before his heart gives out and he's free from all this."

"Credit to you for not giving up on him. Like you said, he won't be neglected for those years." Tony looked at the shell of Laurence Pearson, DEA Agent, and sighed as Fuller had done. "Looking guilty there, Kent," he added quietly. "You know there was nothing you could have done to prevent this."

"Logically? Of course I do. But he was part of my team. With his inept skirt-chasing, and his sometimes less than thorough approach to the job… I was working on that. Now, he's _this. _And nobody deserves this."

They stayed with the oblivious man for a while, eating and drinking the refreshments that were brought out to them, but the shadows were growing longer, and after a while, Fuller asked his friend to go find the nurse. "I'll be right there," she told him, "I'll just go and get his toy." Tony winced and didn't ask.

She came across the grass towards them carrying a soft cuddly plush dog that was the nearest thing to the little Spaniel that Kent's wife, combing the shops and the net, had been able to find. He called to the real thing, and Blossom jumped off the sleeping man's knee, waking him. He stretched his hands towards her, and let out a howl like a deprived toddler. The nurse placed the toy dog in his arms, which quietened him somewhat, smiled reassuringly at them, and pushed the wheelchair away.

Tony shivered as they walked back to the car.

"_I'd rather die than end up like that,"_ they both said together. Kent lifted Blossom one-handed into her travelling cage, and she settled down on her blanket. Tony got into the driver's seat of the DEA truck, and not much at all was said on the way back from Richmond to DC.

Adam Power also watched the shadows growing longer, as he sat out on the small balcony of his equally small flat in Abilene, Kansas, drinking beer from the bottle. The pleasant summery evening didn't impress him; but the hell, nothing did. This was no way to live, and he wanted to be doing things differently. Crop dusting, for hellsakes… he'd flown Tomcats. The modest stipend from the Justice Department would dry up if he wasn't seen to be working, and the only thing he knew was aircraft, but coaxing a cranky Beaver across a wheat field wasn't what he classed as flying.

Besides, he _had_ money. Or could have… The Swiss bank account was there, gathering interest, and not a soul knew about it. It wasn't in the name of Adam Power… (The Justice Department people who'd set up his new identity had chuckled and muttered 'Austin Powers' to themselves, but he'd hated his old name, and never wanted to hear it again. They advised him to keep his first name, and the same initial as his old surname, as it was easier to slip into a new identity that was half familiar. He'd declined impolitely; he'd wanted something grander. The account wasn't in the name of Ken Starling, either.)

He'd spent quite freely until he married Isabella, but then had to pull his horns in, or she'd have wondered where it was all coming from, so he'd salted it away until he could come up with a credible explanation for it. From the point of view of living well from his illegal earnings, marrying Isabella had been a bad idea, as all his associates had told him, but he'd fallen for her even harder the second time around, and he'd always hoped he could pull it all together somehow… until she'd floored him with the news of a daughter he'd never known he had.

He hated the way things had gotten out of hand after that… he hated the DEA, especially that guy Fuller; he hated the Justice Department even though they'd kept him out of prison. He hated the US Marshals who protected him, spied on him more likely, but he hated even more the thought of what those his evidence had put where he wasn't would do to him if they _didn't_ protect him. He hated with a passion the NCIS agents who'd taken him down, especially that tall one, DiNozzo, who'd turned away from him with an expression as if he'd found him on the sole of his shoe. Who did he think he was?

He took a morose pull at his beer. From loving, he'd gone pretty close to hating his wife, too… well, his ex-wife now, he imagined… sitting on his nest-egg and not even knowing it… he gave a short, unamused bark of laughter. Although every cent that he'd had that they could prove came from drug trafficking had been confiscated, there was still the bank account, and it wasn't the only thing his keepers from the US Marshals didn't know about…

Since he'd been a trusted member of the team, trusted, that was, to cut the stuff himself – what he'd extracted from the consignments, a patient teaspoon at a time, over all the years he'd been doing the job, had added up, by the time things went pear-shaped, to ten kilos of pure snow, street value by the time he was done with it, of almost $2,000.000. He'd even had a safe outlet figured, so that he could take Izzy, disappear from the scene, and live happily ever after. It hadn't occurred to him that who sups with the devil must use a long spoon, and now here he was, without wife, house, nice fast little long distance aircraft, nest-egg, or access to the account.

The ATM card for it was secreted with the nest-egg, and the terms of his position in the Witness Protection Program included an outright prohibition on returning to his old haunts. Because the secretive side of his nature stemmed from an almost paranoid belief that he was being watched, he didn't dare attempt to access the account through the net, either from his own modest machine, or from an Internet Café. He was effectively cut off. He swore disgustedly. What he needed was a stooge…

"Are they going to knock this wall down too, Izzy? Do you want me to take the cork-board down?" The young voice was enthusiastic. 

"That's a good idea, _querida_… it's just where to _put _everything… will it fit behind the piano?" The younger woman unhooked the board and carried it awkwardly into the next room, and after a few minutes, called triumphantly, "_Si_!"

Isabella Moreno – she was another one who never wanted to hear the name Starling again – looked out through the kitchen window at the glorious red sunset, and sighed thoughtfully. Inez's foster mother in Pittsburgh was the one she called Mama, and that was fine… Izzy had said 'call me that one day if you think it fits', but thought it might be a while, although the business of getting to know each other was going well. Inez came over frequently for weekends, and they would tentatively do mother and daughter things. Izzy had taken the eighteen year old flying a couple of times, and she'd even taken the controls once, in that fearless way that young people do.

Inez would be gone all too soon, however; she had a place at UCLA, and Izzy thought, not for the first time, how vast America was. She had begun to calculate how long it would take her to fly across, how many stops for rest and gas… how much the fuel would cost, especially if she were to take 'Mama', Mrs. Hernandez with her, who was twice her size. Then she'd had a better idea. She smiled to herself. Patience, and no heavy demands, and life could be better than she'd ever expected in the wake of what had happened months before. Her daughter's excited voice wiped the smile from her face.

"Izzy, Tim's here!" This was the one heavy demand that she couldn't see herself avoiding. It wasn't as if the young man was encouraging Inez in any way, and he'd been such a help in the weeks since he'd talked her down out of the sky, that she couldn't ask him to keep away. But there was no doubt that the handsome young Special Agent with his badge and gun had caught Inez's attention. He was ten years older than her, far more experienced in the world, and in Isabella's eyes, just plain too old for her. She remembered her own parents' attitude, and tried not to be like them, but she felt as if she were in a barrel, about to go over Niagara. Until…

"Oh," she could hear the pout in her daughter's voice. "He's got _that girl_ with him." Izzy stepped to the kitchen door and looked out through the front window. Tim was walking up the path hand in hand with the eccentric, fun goth girl she'd met at the Navy Yard in the wake of that strange day… Abby… yes, that was it. Abby, the forensic scientist. As she watched, he let go of her hand, and pulled her under his arm for a hug. The arm stayed there as Izzy went to let them in. Inez tried not to look as if she were sulking, and her mother could have kissed the pair of them.

Tim looked Isabella straight in the eye, and winked.

"Hi, Izzy. We brought the storage boxes I promised, for the stuff off that wall… what time do the contractors arrive in the morning?"

"Seven o'clock…we're going to go out and leave them to it; they say they'll get it all done in a day. That damn room will be history."

"Tim said you didn't enjoy knowing it was still there," Abby said sympathetically.

"I didn't. But the plasterer will come on Monday, and as soon as that's dry, I'll paint. The new units are waiting for delivery… by this time next week it'll be as if the room never existed. And I'll have a bigger kitchen," she ended with a brave smile, as if her bigger kitchen hadn't almost cost her her life, and caused injury and pain to others.

She went to make coffee, but Inez took over with a wry, sulky smile. As they sat around the kitchen table drinking, Isabella said quietly, "I came to a decision today. I don't want to stay here, new kitchen or not. Inez is going to be in LA for three years… it's all right, _querida_, I'm not coming to live on your doorstep and spoil your student life… but I'll look for a flying job, somewhere… anywhere that's a lot closer, and start afresh. Next week, I'm putting this place on the market."

The other three people around the table thought for a moment, and all nodded their agreement. Abby summed it up. "It'd be like living in a camcorder," she said. "A fresh start is good."

"Anything we can do…" Tim agreed.

As they left, a short while later, Izzy slipped her arm round her daughter's waist and hugged her lightly.

"He's so _nice_, Izzy…" the girl said sadly.

"Yes, he is… but at UCLA there will be hundreds, _amor mio, por que una flor cuando se puede tener todo el jardin?_"

Inez gasped, and then giggled. "Oh, Izzy… but you're right… Mama said I should find a nice _young_ man, or three…"

**AN: Here we go, then, probably another marathon…**

The Spanish:- Sweetheart, why have a flower when you can have the whole garden?


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: A bit shorter than chapter 1, but I always try to at least go over the 2,000 words to give you something to get your teeth into…**

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 2

It was two days later. The early morning was misty, and promised sunshine later. Paula was wearing those tan boots that he liked, and soft pale blue that suited her, taking the hard edge off the fierce, independent agent/career-girl/player, although he'd never tell her that. He squeezed her one last time before they drew apart, and stepped out of his apartment block into the hazy morning, to head towards their separate cars, agents now, not lovers.

"Say Hi to Quantico for me," Tony whispered, trying to be light-hearted.

"Tony, you've got that look in your eyes again. Don't."

He didn't even bother to ask, "What look?" Always, after a night with Paula, hell, after any time he spent with Paula, he spent the next few days fighting off the urge to dream of white picket fences, or his equivalent of them… and she was the only girl he'd ever had a relationship with who didn't want one. Karma, DiNozzo. "I'll call you," he said softly, and they both knew that he would, and if he didn't manage to, sooner or later she'd call him. It was going nowhere, but they needed each other; if only they both needed each other in the same way.

He watched her Solstice pull away, and a moment later started the Mustang up. Feeling the welling up of regret making a hard knot in his stomach, he refused to acknowledge it, opened the window, and let the car's speed blow the miseries out of him. Ten minutes into the journey, he'd done a reasonably good job, and started to notice things other than what driving required. Like, the DEA truck pulled up alongside the park on the right. He pulled over himself, recognising the tall man using a long-handled Slinger, awkwardly with his left arm, to throw a bright yellow ball for a small black and white dog. Blossom was going about fetching that ball the same way she went about everything in life; with complete dedication and utter enthusiasm.

Tony said so, after greeting the man who was rapidly moving from acquaintance to friend, and Kent laughed, as the Spaniel came back for a fuss. "If only all the human members of the team had the same qualities…" then he shook his head briefly as he thought of Larry Pearson. Tony opted for changing the subject.

"Should you be driving?" he asked, pointing to the sling that the DEA chief still wore.

"No… but I only take it off in the car. I can't expect people to drive me round for ever."

"You're as bad as me. Should you even be back at work?"

The other man's face darkened again. "We're still a man short… there's no handler available who hasn't already got his own dog; Bloss lost her handler, I lost my dog… we're perfect for each other. When we don't have a job, I'm deskbound. And I've got a wife and three teenage keepers… I can't step out of line. I'll be fine." He paused, and said thoughtfully, "Have you been following the aftermath of the case at all?"

"Well, yeah. I didn't want to bring it up… but you're going to tell me the tentacle's regrown, right?"

"Yeah." Fuller looked pissed off. "They grow faster than we can chop. I was intending to talk to you this week…So what have you heard?" Tony thought for a moment. "You must've heard something, or you wouldn't be asking," Fuller urged.

"Oh, we've heard. No, I was just thinking about the wisdom of repeating myself… we should have this conversation with my team present. And anyone of yours that – "

"No, I'll do fine… you want me to follow you in?"

"Let me phone ahead."

In the bull pen a short time later, Tony hooked his chair out with one foot, and sailed it across towards his Boss's desk. Under neon lights, it was even clearer that the DEA man wasn't over his injury, and he didn't argue about sitting down.

"So, shall I start? You remember, the tests your forensics lady did on the log book, and the dust from the room in the Starling house? It matched the very small amount we were able to recover from the debris of the plane. Identical make-up. So, different shipment, same source. Since then, we've pulled in one or two small amounts… identical again. There's not been so much on the streets, but it's still getting in, and it seems now, in increasing amounts."

"Could it be from supplies that were already here, but had not been distributed yet?" Ziva asked.

"We've no certain way of telling," Kent Fuller said honestly. "Experience would say not. Stuff tends to hit the streets as soon as it arrives, there's high demand, and the drug bosses do like their quick turnover, and just as quick profit."

Ziva nodded her thanks for the information; until she had come to America drug running had not been something she had had anything to do with, although she knew that Mossad did track the movement of raw opium from Afghanistan. "The tentacle grew back so quickly," Kent went on, "that the most obvious conclusion is we didn't get all of Pascoe's organisation, and someone who already knew it from the inside is pulling the strings."

"We thought so," Gibbs said. "And before you ask why we didn't tell you, McGee only came up with this yesterday."

"You won't hear me complaining," Fuller said mildly. "We're a very small office in DC; we'll take all the help you can give us, whenever it's offered. All I have is one name, which may or may not be anything; but the informant who gave us it owed us big time, or he'd never have said it. He was well scared."

Gibbs nodded. "Don't say it for a moment," he said thoughtfully. "Let's see if we've arrived at the same place." He looked across at McGee. The probie took a deep breath.

"Two things occurred to me," he said self-consciously. "Lieutenant Commander Starling said that her husband didn't always take his pupils to the same places on their long distance trips, but apart from Florida she didn't know where; and other things she's told me made me think there were gaps in our knowledge."

Fuller raised is eyebrows curiously, then he remembered. "Oh, yeah… Tony said you'd been helping her." He managed a smile. "Guess when you save someone's life, it gets you feeling responsible…"

Tim almost blushed, and went on hurriedly, "While he was being interviewed, Tony said to me that Starling was withholding things. That he wasn't lying, but there were things he was too scared to tell, even to stay out of prison. We figured there were people he was too frightened to name, and we wanted to find out who they were... So I started finding everything I could about every associate of his, ever… flying or not, naval or not, from as far back as I could find. I reckon we even identified the day he first fell in with Pascoe, and joined his organisation."

He paused, almost as if he were waiting for some sort of 'hurry up' from Gibbs, or 'cut the crap' from Tony. When he didn't get either, he went on. "I dug deep, into every place he'd been, with the Navy or since, I figured for instance that someone at the airfields he'd been to regularly must be in on it to bring stuff in and load the plane. I ended up with twenty two names."

Tony took over, but without any of the barging out of the way that Tim was afraid he'd get. In fact, the SFA's first words surprised him. "After that mighty feat by the" (whispered) "_hacker_ _extraordinaire_, we shared them out, and set out to track down where they are now. Four are dead, eight are in prison, one's terminally ill, one got religion and leads a blameless life, running a half-way house for recovering addicts. Three seem to have moved completely away from the drugs business and gone legit. Four are still active in the business, fairly low down the chain, they get caught, do their time, come out, start again… Now, providing we're right about all the others, that leaves just one." He held out his hand in an 'after you' gesture, first to Kent, then to Tim.

"Dale," the DEA man said.

"Nickless," McGee finished.

"What do we know about him?" Gibbs asked.

"Comparatively new on the scene in DC," Kent said.

"Credit card became active here six months ago," Tim said. "Before then he worked out of Faulds airfield in Florida, one of the places that Starling frequented."

"Ex Navy pilot," Tony added. "Running charter flights… rich people to racecourses… had a reputation as a man with a violent temper. A mechanic got beaten half to death, jumped in the dark… he'd put the wrong fuel in Nickless's aircraft. Nobody could prove that it was him, but next minute, he's in DC. Reckon his bosses decided he was better off under their noses."

Kent nodded, and his blue eyes went very dark. He didn't speak for a while, and finally, Tony said, "You reckon he had something to do with what happened to Larry."

The DEA chief rubbed absently at his shoulder, and automatically reached down to stroke Blossom – but of course, he'd had to leave her in her air-conditioned travel cage in his truck. It would have been nice to feel her nose giving his hand a comforting nudge.

"He was a nobody on Pat McBride's team," he said finally. "Just a heavy, but a heavy with brains according to our information. Brains and fists."

Ziva said, "But when McBride was arrested at the airfield, Nickless was not with him. Why not, since McBride was called in by Pascoe to help with the attack. Why would he not bring such a person with him?"

"D'you ever get an idea… you've no proof, but you just _know_ it's what went down? That mechanic… just makes me more sure really…" He passed his hand across his eyes. "There was no need to do what they did to Larry… once they knew he couldn't tell them anything…"

"How did they know that?" Ziva asked, and wished she hadn't. Fuller's words were dragged out of him; pulled like teeth, without anaesthetic.

"Larry… Could you see… a guy like Larry … holding out? They _knew_ he didn't know anything, and they _beat him to a vegetable_. Most likely one to do that? Nickless… it was him. I know it. He got sent back for something… I don't know what…"

McGee said, "Officer Robinson said another car came back and parked up the street for a while, and then left in a hurry. It was registered to Pat McBride. What if, after they didn't find the stash in Agent Pearson's car, they wondered if they'd got it wrong? Sent him back to see?"

"What if it were an excuse to get him away from them?" Ziva queried. "If even they were sickened… or frightened by what he did?"

They all sat, or stood silently for a while, thinking back to that day, each with their own memories. After a while Gibbs said, "He's the only one whose current whereabouts we've no word on." 

"It figures," Kent said bleakly. "That one fact is enough to tell us that he's in charge now. Remove Pascoe _and_ his second in command, and there's enough confusion for anyone with the balls for it to take over." He paused, and stood up. "I want him," he said tonelessly. "I'm more than grateful for what you've done so far. I'll use you shamelessly as long as you're prepared to be used, but never behind your back." He paused again. "Look, I'll even ask nicely… please…_don't _go after him without me."

Gibbs nodded, recalling Tony's description of Larry Pearson. He stood up, and shook Kent Fuller's hand. "Works two ways," he said quietly.

It was misty in Kansas too; Adam Power drove to work early. The farmer who'd hired his services today believed in getting the spraying done before the sun was high. "Less evaporation, and ya get the insects before they're active," the old sod-buster had said. Remembering that he had a boss to answer to, and not forgetting who was paying the bill, Power had ground his teeth and not told the silly old loon that he was spraying powder, not liquid.

His mood was black; the text message on his cell phone this morning had seen to that. He regularly broke the terms of his witness protection deal, which stated clearly, no contact with former life, but he kept an informant in DC, a kid who delivered newspapers and mail shots, and liked the extra pocket money that spying brought him.

From: Daz Hey, Powerman, ur house is 4 sale. Realtor's board up yesterday. Asked ur old lady where going said dno.

Shit… if she started packing, she'd find… shit, shit, shit. He'd have to move fast.

As he passed a vast field of sunflowers, he saw one of his colleagues was already at work, and he slowed down to watch. The small aircraft skimmed only feet above the tall plants, in and out of the mist; a dramatic, atmospheric picture, if Power had felt like seeing it that way. There was no doubt the kid could fly…

**AN: I try not to mind, but I **_**had**_** hoped for one or two more reviews for chapter one… can't help it, we all need to crank our self esteem up a notch sometimes… please drop a word or two?**


	3. Chapter 3

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 3

Once Isabella had made up her mind, she'd wasted no time. She hadn't even given herself to the end of the week, as she'd implied to Tim, to think about it. On Tuesday morning the board had gone up. Inez agreed. "I'm being selfish, Izzy. I would love to have you living close enough to college that I could come home some weekends."

"And bring your washing?" Inez looked blank. "Isn't that what students do? Bring the washing home to Momma?" She realised what she'd said, and went a bit pale. "I mean… that is…"

Inez looked thoughtful, and sat down beside her mother on the garden wall. "I… I want to say Mom, sometimes, you know? It's just… it's just…"

"A Mom would never have abandoned you like I did."

"_No!_" Inez said hotly. "Izzy, we've been there! If I'd been going to pile blame on you for the past, I'd never have bothered to find you. The nuns told the lawyer how it was, and he told me. And then I decided. I've not changed how I think."

"Sorry… so, then…"

Inez sighed. "I've not told you my whole story, and I know you want to know… but I thought it would start this whole 'I abandoned you' thing again. So I guess now's a good time to tell you, only remember _you_ brought the subject up. Don't look at me like that, Izzy… it's not that bad!"

Her mother's expression of guilt and anxiety didn't decrease, and Inez seized her hands. "My first Mama was Lena. She had two sons, and they're my brothers."

"Oh… I hadn't actually figured that they… I mean, I thought they were your Mama's sons."

"Not originally… Well, Mama Lena was a widow, and when I was seven, she got ill. People used to come to visit a lot, and talk in worried voices, and it didn't dawn on me why… then she told me that she wasn't going to be able to be with me for much longer, and she wanted me to be happy, and they'd found some nice kind new people for me to live with. I said what about Ed and Steve… and she dropped the bombshell. She said that Eduardo and Esteban were going to live with some _other_ kind people, and that was the moment my life fell apart."

"Inez…"

"I didn't want to leave Mama Lena, and I didn't want to leave my brothers. I spent almost three years yelling and screaming and being an utter brat. I worked hard at school, although I stayed inside myself and didn't make friends because I knew I'd only lose them again; but at home, wherever that happened to be, I was just a mule. I wanted to see my brothers, and nobody would tell me where they were; I kept running away and jumping on random buses, and asking complete strangers where my brothers were. In the end, after no foster family could cope with me, I was taken back to the convent in Annapolis, and I lived there with some other kids that nobody could cope with, where there were strict rules on behaviour."

Once again, she looked at her mother reassuringly. "It wasn't so bad! You had privileges, and if you broke the rules you lost them. Or you had to do everyone else's chores as well as your own. Or you ate in your room, and it was just a sandwich or some cereal, and you knew everyone else was having something much nicer. I calmed down again, but the nuns knew I still cried for my brothers."

Izzy tried to wipe a tear away without looking as if that were what she was doing. Inez laughed gently, with a kindly, comforting wisdom that made her mother's tears flow more freely. "It's all right! One day, I was sitting in the garden, doing my homework, and I saw Mother Agnes and two other nuns in a huddle, whispering. I wondered what I'd done. It went on, on and off, for a couple of hours… and then my _brothers_ came running across the lawn towards me! It had been almost three years, but I knew them right away. We hugged, and we cried, and they told me they hadn't stopped asking for me since the day we were split up."

She took another deep breath. "They'd been moved around a lot too, but they ended up with Mama Hernandez, who was the first one to take notice of them. She hadn't the room for a third child, but she said she'd get me anyway. They'd already cleared out the attic and made it into a room before they came for me. She wouldn't take no for an answer. She took me without any prior investigation into what I was like… if Ed and Steve wanted me that was enough for her. She was a real Mama to all of us. She _is_ my Mama, and always will be… and I love you too, Izzy, but I'm afraid I might slip up and call you Mom in front of her."

Her mother smiled. "Thanks for telling me," she said softly. "Izzy's just fine. But you can still bring your washing. And Mama can come to visit. And your brothers."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tim huffed as he stared at his monitor. He'd looked at the same page of technical data, bread and butter to him, ten times and nothing had sunk in. They were wrapping up a case, and all he had to do was to attach the page to his report, and reduce it into a couple of paragraphs of lay-man friendly summary for Gibbs; also bread and butter. He put his elbows on the desk, chin on his hands, and sat frowning, no longer seeing the screen at all. He huffed again.

"Six!" DiNozzo's voice cut through his funk. He turned his head, slowly and grudgingly, somewhat reluctant to rise to Tony's bait, even more so to leave his thoughts.

"Six what?"

"Sighs. Huffs. Snorts. Whatever. Something's bothering you, McBrownStudy." He put his head on one side, raised his eyebrows, and waited.

Ziva watched curiously; the interaction between these two puzzled her sometimes. A pair of raucous brothers, the elder merciless, the younger mutinous, ready to instantly close ranks against third parties whilst they went on with their harrying, she wondered what it was that stopped them from actually killing each other.

Gibbs had noticed McGee's abstraction, and had been about to say something himself, but decided to leave it to Tony.

Tim pursed his mouth, frowned, and said finally, "It's not this case. I'm nearly done here." He looked round the bull pen. Gibbs didn't appear to be listening, but that didn't mean a thing… Ziva was, quite openly. He didn't blame her; he knew they took some figuring out sometimes. There was the usual traffic, and noise of phones and conversation; he felt hemmed in. Lord only knew how Tony understood that.

"My turn to get lunch," he said, changing the subject as if Tim hadn't just yelled 'help' without saying a word. "You want to help me carry it, Probie?"

He flicked his eyes at Gibbs for a nano-second of confirmation as Tim said "Sure, if you like," and rose from his chair to follow the SFA to the elevator. Tony waited until they were out in the open air before giving the younger man the 'serious' look.

"So, not _this_ case. What then? The Starling one?" Tim just looked at him. He really ought to remember that DumbTony was an act. "Well," Tony answered the unasked question, "I know you've been helping Izzy out… she trusts you… and I also noticed when Kent Fuller was over on Wednesday, confirming your suspicions, that you were looking pretty concerned. So…?"

"Young Inez. She's got a new boyfriend." He waited to see if Tony would scoff. "I don't like him." Tony's eyebrows went higher, but he still didn't interrupt. "She had a bit of a crush on me… so I started taking Abby with me, until I think she got the message. But if she'd still been interested in me, maybe she wouldn't have met this guy Earl."

Finally, Tony spoke. "So it's _your _fault she's met someone you don't like?" he asked with some asperity.

"Seems ridiculous when you put it like that…"

Tony said more softly, "You were right not to encourage her, you know that. So, what else? Like, how did she meet him? How did you meet him? And why don't you like him?"

"She met him on Tuesday evening. At the airfield. She went with her mother to service the Europa, cuz Izzy was going to fly her back to Pittsburgh the next day. He was looking at the patch of grass – it's still black – where the Devil Plane blew up, and he asked her about it. Izzy tells me it was obvious from moment one that he liked her, and that was good because it got her mind off _me_!" He huffed again. "He told her he was from Kansas, that most of the time he flew crop dusters, but he sometimes did special flights to places like DC where there were high end health spas who needed top quality sunflower seeds."

"Have you checked if that's legit?"

"Haven't had the time, Tony. I didn't want to be doing something on a hunch until I'd got my report in… but I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"OK… well, hopefully the break will have fixed that."

_Weird. The break,_ Tim thought, _Not talking to him. He drives me crazy over small things, but he won't take a scrap of credit for doing something good for me._

"When we get back, you'll be able to concentrate better; you finish that report, PDQ – it should only take the real McGeek a couple of minutes… then let's see what we can turn up on Mr. Earl…what?"

"Dawkins. And to answer the next question, I met him yesterday. I went over to witness Izzy's signature on some divorce document, and he was there. Izzy thought it was cute that he'd only met Inez the day before, and he'd made some excuse just to come over and talk to her."

"Mmm… shouldn't he have Toto-ed off back to Kansas?"

"He said he'd managed to talk his boss into letting him stay a few days, and pick up a consignment of ink cartridges to drop off in Topeka. Staying on his friend's couch. Borrowed his motorbike to come visit. Needless to say, Inez has asked both moms if she can stay here another couple of days. All totally above board. I could say, story well prepared."

"Well, yeah, you could, if you're not taking it at face value. So, my third question – why don't you like him?" They'd reached the deli, so Tony had to wait patiently for the answer. He did some thinking. How likely was McGee's instinct to be right? He remembered Erin Kendall and sighed. That had been the first evidence of trusting the Probie's gut. Painful Probielesson…There hadn't been many other times he'd been in the position of needing to, but Tim had come up trumps so far. But he'd known that before he'd dragged him along today…

His own gut had told him back on Saturday when he'd taken Kent to see Larry Pearson, that this case wasn't over. Tony DiNozzo, befriender – was there such a word? He liked it - befriender of injured agent with score to settle, or Probie with developing gutalert… yeah, he liked that one too…so what would Tim have to say?

They started back, and Tony waited.

"You know how if something's not funny, or if you're wary of someone, you smile and it doesn't reach your eyes? Gibbs does it, so do you. When someone's trying to act nice and you're not impressed. He's like that all the time. He smiles to charm… to be charming. He's acting. Inez can't see it, I wouldn't expect her to – but I think Izzy's uneasy. She resisted her suggestion that they put him up. When he's not looking at someone, he doesn't bother to keep up the act. His eyes are everywhere, sizing up everything… I left my pen in the study – upstairs, you remember. He was wandering around up there, said he was looking for the bathroom. There's a fairly obvious cloakroom downstairs. I don't know, Tony… it's all too convenient. It just doesn't _feel _right."

Now Tim waited. "You don't like the thought of him round them," Tony said. "You can't be with them all the time, and you feel as if they need you to be."

"Is that all it is, d'you think? I've got this responsibility thing like Kent Fuller said and I can't put it down?"

"Do you think that's it?"

"No." It was spoken with confidence, and a bit of defiance. _I am Probie, hear me growl,_ Tony thought, with an affection that he'd eat his own boxers rather than admit to.

"That's good then. I'll start on the obvious stuff when we get back, you can dig the deep stuff when you're done with that report. Er… you didn't get a fingerprint by any chance?" Tim blinked at the tone in the SFA's voice, that sounded like 'I'm damn sure you did.'

He grinned. "Got a coffee mug in my desk."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Margaret Graf hadn't care for Mr. Nicholson very much when he'd first brought his aircraft to the field six months ago. He was perfectly good mannered, but something about him had made her hackles rise. Nothing had changed. He was polite, but insistent that he no longer wanted his assigned parking slot to be in the same hangar as the tiny Europa. "It's too low to the ground, Ms. Graf," he said, "It's nearly invisible. I'm forever scared of stepping on it with my big thing."

Margaret held her peace; the Australian Jabiru J250 was an attractive aircraft, and by all accounts very fast, but it wasn't that big, and the visibility looked perfectly good to her practised eye. Nevertheless, the customer is always right, and she allocated him a new spot in hangar two.

Dale Nickless sat in his cockpit, ostensibly studying his charts. His reason for wanting the move was not what 'Mr. Nicholson' had told Margaret. He simply wanted to be as far away from the Starling woman as possible. There was always one fed or another somewhere around her, and he didn't want his face to become as familiar to them as theirs were to him. He'd been glad, the day of the showdown, that he'd been sent back; he wasn't known in this neck of the woods, and he wanted it to stay that way.

McGee… the geek, the college kid… occasionally DiNozzo, the big swaggering one…they owed him, and one day he'd collect…

As for Starling; her husband had ratted out several of his friends and the organisation he was making a shedload of money from, and got clean away with it. OK, he'd done him a favour… sending Pascoe and McBride to prison had put him on the throne instead, and the fact that he wasn't personally known to the guy had kept his ass out of the fire, but he'd still had to rebuild after the damage Starling had done. Seeing the damn' woman around, all sweet and laughing with her kid, just grated on him.

He hissed to himself. Now she had another kid with her… a pilot by the looks of things, the way they were fussing round the ancient Cessna… and the thing that was eating him most today was that he _knew _that kid. From somewhere… it was driving him crazy.

He took a couple of photos discreetly with his phone, and transferred them to his laptop. A couple of emails later, and a short doze, he had a good enough answer to the question he'd sent round the organisation.

_Boss,_ Harry Menkov sent back, _we've never seen him, but Hassal reckons he looks like Brock Dawkins… remember him? Running brown heroin out of Florida to Topeka? Used to have his kid on board half the time… Hass reckons he never went to school…_

He remembered him. Small timer, occasionally their paths crossed, not enough to be worth his time… but this, this was weird. What was the Dawkins kid doing with Isabella Starling?

The woman and her daughter drove away, as the daylight was dying. The kid lingered around his aircraft for a while, and then headed towards his motorbike. As he came by the corner of the hangar, an arm snaked out in the darkness, and slammed him against the wall so hard his brain rattled about in his skull. He would have protested, but the same arm was across his throat, cutting off his air.

"Mr. Dawkins," a voice purred. "It _is_ Mr. Dawkins, isn't it? What's your first name, Mr. Dawkins?"

The pressure on his windpipe was lifted just enough for him to gasp out, "E – Earl."

"Well, Earl, my name's Dale Nickless, it's a name you need to get to know, and you and I are going to have a little chat. Now, I don't usually have to do my own dirty work, but don't go thinking that I don't like to. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Nickless brought his knee up slowly, gradually increasing the pressure on the younger man's groin. "Yes, Mr. Nickless," he said easily.

"Yes, Mr. Nickless," came the strangled reply.

He let the pressure off. "That's better," he said kindly. "You and I are going to get on very well."

"Wha…what do you want?"

Nickless poked him hard in the lower gut with two stiff fingers, and his victim let out a squeal of pain. He would have doubled up, but for the arm still across his throat.

"Oh, you don't get to ask _me_ any questions," he said, "And it would be, 'What do you want, Mr. Nickless'." The knee began to come up again.

"Yes, Mr. Nickless," the reply came frantically.

"Well, what I want to know is everything _you_ know about Mrs. Starling." The sudden smell of urine told him he wouldn't have any trouble getting all the information he could want.

**AN: It does take time to set the scene… action next, I hope… but you know me and the just growed phenomenon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Minor spoiler for Mind Games. I know that in Grace Period Paula couldn't pronounce Ziva's name properly; the implication being that they'd not met before. Can we just take it that they've not taken much notice of each other?**

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 4

Gibbs looked up with a raised eyebrow as Tim and Tony walked in with the lunch. Tony dropped the lunch bags on his desk, walked over to Tim's, removed an evidence bag, and disappeared. Tim stopped in front of Gibbs' desk. "Need to talk to you, Boss," he answered the eyebrow. "Just need to get a couple of paras done to finish my report first."

"What paras might they be?" Tim explained, and Gibbs shook his head. "Just attach it. If I ever need it explaining I'll ask." The young agent nodded and moved towards his desk. "McGee. Later. Lunch. Sit."

"Well… I can do it now while we wait for Tony, Boss…"

Gibbs made a 'have it your way' gesture, telling himself not to be unfair. One of the things he'd chosen McGee for was his thoroughness, so he'd no cause for complaint… the other two, especially DiNozzo, would annoy the last traces of anal retentiveness out of him… in the end.

The man himself returned; they circled the wagons in a way reminiscent of Tony's campfires, and over satisfactorily squishy char-grilled chicken and pasta, Tim explained his problem.

Ziva was learning. She said at once, "Gibbs, you do not believe in coincidences, no?"

"No. If I did, this one would still be too much."

Tony went back to his desk and typed. "Nothing coming up on an Earl Dawkins," he said thoughtfully.

"But Tony –"

"Chill, McGee. The guy exists, and we've got Abby." He widened the search, set it to come up on the plasma screen, and was about to come back to his lunch when his desk phone rang. All he did was listen. "Thank you, queen of the lab with the speed of light… mmm… don't I always?" He put the phone down and came back to his chair, picked up his lunch and continued to eat.

"Don't you always what?" Tim asked snarkily. Tony just waggled his eyebrows suggestively, twirled a piece of pasta round on his plastic fork, and waited until the plasma screen changed; bringing up the information that Abby was sending.

"Charles Erland Dawkins," he said cheerfully. "No criminal record, fingerprints from FAA records, private pilot's licence. Age twenty-six, so he's older than he's making out for Inez… that's enough grounds for suspicion on its own. The Probiegut –"

The screen changed. An older man, with a superficial resemblance to young Earl. "Burl Dawkins, operates sea fishing boat hire out of South Naples, Florida. Record for smuggling drugs in from the West Indies; nothing since1996. Oh… and Brock Dawkins… two years older, can't miss the family resemblance…last conviction for drug offences 1998." Tony looked more closely at the small print. "One child, born 1987. Let's hear it for the Probiegut… young Earl's family have learned how to keep their noses clean, but it's reasonable to assume –" he made air quotes – "that young Earl started earning his pocket money as soon as he was out of short pants."

NCISNCISNCIS

Earl Dawkins pulled his new jeans on, with trembling hands. What the hell had he gotten himself into? And was there any chance at all of getting himself out of it? Nickless had thrown a fifty dollar bill casually at him, and told him to ride to the nearest mall. "Get yourself some clean pants, Earl, you're not riding in my car smelling of piss."

"Yes, Mr. Nickless."

He'd been followed to the mall, he'd been followed to take the bike back to Taz… it wasn't necessary, he wouldn't have crossed the man driving the black, dark windowed Maybach behind him… but then he remembered he had to ride in the guy's car. As he'd settled down on the cream leather interior, the closing of the door had sounded like the clanging of a prison cell. Was the guy going to kill him? Then why did he buy him new pants? He hadn't asked a single question, about Ms. Starling or anyone else…

They'd gone into an underground parking garage; Nickless had waited until the security shutter had closed before getting out of the car. Earl had waited to be told to. They'd taken the elevator to a very upmarket apartment, Earl hadn't a clue what floor… he'd been pushed into a room, told "Breakfast at seven thirty, don't be late," and the door had been closed sharply behind him. He hadn't heard the sound of a lock, but wild horses wouldn't have made him try the door.

It was a comfortably furnished bedroom; there was a shower room and toilet, a robe on the door and an alarm clock and a carafe ands glass of water on the nightstand. He'd found himself looking for a camera, but he couldn't see one. He'd sat down on the edge of the bed, wiped sweaty palms on his shirt, sipped some water, wandered around a bit, and finally gone to bed since there hadn't seemed much else to do.

The alarm clock had woken him at seven, he'd showered, and dressed, and wondered if he should leve his room or if his gaoler would come for him. Finally, as the smell of bacon drifted under the door, he nervously opened it. Nobody shot him, so he followed the smell…

A small, cheerful Hispanic woman was cooking in a wide, well equipped kitchen. "Good morning, Senor," she said, without waiting for him to speak. "You like ham and eggs? Or pancakes? Fruit?"

Earl stuttered. "H-ham and eggs is good…" The woman pointed with her spatula through a door to a living room. "Boss says go out on the patio," she said, and he meekly went out as she directed. The patio was five floors above some very leafy suburb of what he supposed was DC; Earl resigned himself to his fate. If he could escape from five floors up, he'd no idea where to go.

Nickless, still in his robe, tossed his newspaper down, and looked at the young man. Good… exactly where he needed him to be, off kilter, bewildered, and shit scared.

"Hey," he said goodnaturedly. "Sit yourself down. Did Cori take your breakfast order?"

"Yes, Mr. Nickless."

"Good… good. Now, Miz Starling… start at the beginning."

"I didn't know his name was Starling… he said he was Adam Power when he came to work for ACDC…"

Nickless was having to control his laughter. _Adam Power?_ "_ACDC_?"

"Abilene Crop Dusting Company…"

Within twenty minutes he had the whole story, even allowing for the kid to eat. He was already frightened enough, and Nickless playing 'good baddie' to last night's 'bad baddie' simply added to his confusion. Handled right this one would work for him for life, and do anything required of him…

So, Starling was in witness protection, that much he'd guessed. What he didn't know about was the carefully stolen $2,000.000 worth of coke, or the Swiss bank account.

"Wait." He held up his hand in the middle of Earl's narrative, and made a phone call. He spoke economically. "Abilene Crop Dusting Company. Adam Power. I want him here by this evening."

So, the kid had been told where the stuff was – inside a bag of building sand at the back of the garden shed at Starling's old house, which his wife had just put on the market; and told to go fetch, by whatever means possible.

"How did he know you wouldn't just make off with it yourself?"

The kid looked at the floor. "My Pa and his brother used to deal… I've been doing it for them… never been caught. He said he'd see I was."

"OK… well, we can find someone to take over that particular line… you're far more use to me here." 

"Use? Er…Mr. Nickless."

"Look around, kid. You work for me, you do well for yourself. Very well. Let me down, you die. Do a good job… you have a good life. Which d'you prefer? No-brainer, isn't it…?"

NCISNCISNCIS

"How would you handle this, McGee?" Gibbs' tone was abrasive, but somehow encouraging too.

"Well, Boss… I think it's not enough just to frighten him off, we need to know why he's here, so…I'd pull him in and ask him… and also, I'd have someone take a look at where he's come from, since something, or someone, from there probably made him come here."

"Anything else?"

"I… er, I'd find out if any other agencies have any information…"

Tony said softly, "Probie, I think you're being asked here if you're certain you can trust Izzy… and especially Inez." Tim looked outraged, and the SFA went on, "She's only just come into Izzy's life… Tim, I'm playing devil's advocate here… it has to be considered."

And when Tony called him by his first name, he knew it did. He calmed down, and thought, then nodded. His answer was oblique at first.

"When Izzy got pregnant," he said, "Somehow at eighteen she managed to make the right decision. She went to her parish priest, who was a good man. He sent her to nuns who were good women. Inez's upbringing was watched over by people who wanted the best for her. And she grew up a decent girl. That, I'm positive of. The Morenos aren't the problem, it's something else."

Tony exchanged glances with the Boss and Ziva, and nodded thoughtfully, and Tim relaxed a bit. The SFA went back to his desk. "I'll update Kent," he said. "See if he knows anything."

Gibbs nodded. "Let's see what else we can find out before we decide where to take this." Kent, he thought. DiNozzo had used Fuller's first name, and the Boss smiled inside. He wished sometimes that DiNozzo wouldn't shoulder the burdens of other lost souls… but he remembered the blackness in Fullers eyes the last time they met, and acknowledged that the DEA chief needed a friend. The rage going on in his mind right now was _not _something you could take home to your wife and kids.

Tony was doing his best to hold the other guy together, and he'd just seen him holding McGee up too…

He hadn't picked up the phone, but was hammering away at his keyboard; so, Gibbs noticed, was Ziva. They both wore frowns. He observed, but didn't interfere.

_Is that it? Is McGee too trusting?_

_I think not, Z… but if it turns out he _is _wrong, we're here._

_It is not a good idea to become personally involved in a case… at Mossad we were taught to avoid doing so. I am afraid McGee will not be able to be objective._

_I understand. But if you'd been the one who had to talk Izzy down, would you have stayed cool?_

Ziva raised her head and stared at Tony; he looked back with a neutral half smile. She sighed, and went back to her keyboard.

_No…But I am not sure that I could have done it at all. And I am worried about Tim._

_You've had to deal with some bad things… different worlds, Z, but McGee's not alone in this one. BTW, neither are you, Ninja._

_Ninja?_

Gibbs was astonished to see an unwilling half smile creep over Ziva's face. Tony grinned widely, and picked up his phone. What ever it was, it seemed DiNozzo had dealt again.

Tim phoned Izzy on some pretext, Inez answered. Her mother was in the air, she reported. Tim knew she'd been doing Ken's old job since he went 'missing'… he also knew they'd be sorry to lose her when she relocated, she was by all accounts an excellent instructor.

"Are you at the airfield with her?"

"Oh, yes… I like coming here…maybe she'll teach me to fly one day – although they say parents should never teach their children to drive!"

Tim laughed, and tried to sound purely conversational. "Is _Earl_ there with you?"

"Oh, no, he's at Calderstones, servicing his plane. I think he has to go back tomorrow." She sounded sad. "He's coming over to us for a meal tonight, though."

Tim didn't have much confidence in himself as an actor, but he tried to sound casual. "Oh, what time's that? It's just I have to bring those papers back for Izzy, and I don't want to arrive in the middle of dinner."

"Oh, around six, I think. Don't worry about it."

I'll be there, Tim thought as he disconnected. And at that moment, the Probiegut had a feeling. He rang Margaret Graaf at Calderstones.

"No, he's not here, Tim. That ancient thing is standing out there, windows open, it looks like rain… I've never known a more neglected machine, poor thing… it was a good aircraft once… he seems to do just enough to keep it in the air…he's not left a spare key like we require, so I can't taxi it undercover, oh, and he's not paid his landing fees and it's been here three days. It's funny… but I really don't like the guy."

"Margaret, there's nothing wrong with your nose... Let me know if he arrives?"

"Will do, Tim. Bye."

Gibbs looked across. He was about to ask McGee what he'd discovered, when Paula Cassidy walked in. Tony, of course, jumped up to greet her. Tim smiled a welcome; Ziva smiled politely. She recognised the agent from the battle at the airfield, but didn't know much about her. Gibbs at least managed not to frown; his opinion of Cassidy had changed for the better since the Starling case, and before that the way she'd dealt with the serial killer Kyle Boone's lawyer protégé.

Tony fetched a chair, but the Ice Queen said, "I'm not stopping, Tony, I just have some information." She lowered her voice and gave him that slow glance under her lashes that drove him wild, right there in the middle of the office. "Meet up this evening if you like…"

He ground his teeth. "The information, Cassidy?"

"A friend of a friend… thought I might be interested… he's a feebie, has a pal who's a US Marshal. Passed me this photo."

"Ken Starling," Tim said as they all gathered to look.

"Calls himself Adam Power, lives in Abilene, Kansas."

"Abilene… that's where –"

"That's right. That info request you put out about one Earl Dawkins… I wouldn't have bothered to mention that I knew where Starling went, if you hadn't shown an interest in someone from the same town."

"Thanks, Paula. Another of these coincidences that Gibbs doesn't believe in," Tony said. He leaned in to whisper something in Paula's ear, and grunted as the Boss's hand connected with the back of his head.

"You two play grabass later," he said. "McGee, go - "

Kent Fuller walked in; this time he'd ignored the rules and brought Blossom. Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission, Gibbs thought. "Grand Central," he said out loud. But he bent to fuss the Spaniel all the same.

"I got one of my contacts in the US Marshals Office to check up on Starling," he said. "Is there any chance of using MTAC to talk to him? He's reluctant to say anything, but I told him we suspected the case wasn't over."

"Sure," Gibbs said. "Cassidy just informed us he and Earl Dawkins were living in the same town, and that's more than enough for me. Come."

Ziva went back behind her desk; she could see how it was between Tony and Paula, and simply wished to keep right out of it. After what seemed quite a short time to the couple, and an absolute eternity to Ziva, forced to endure their antics, the two senior agents came back down.

"They worked for the same firm," Gibbs barked. "The Marshals suspected for some time Starling was breaking the terms of his deal; they know he had a big conversation with Dawkins early Tuesday morning, by late afternoon, guy's in DC. And now… Starling's gone missing himself." He paused. "Where the hell's McGee?"

"He grabbed his things when Chief Fuller arrived, Boss. I thought you'd sent him somewhere."

Gibbs thought back. 'Go', he'd said, and then not said where, or who to take for back up. And McGee was either showing great initiative in interpreting the order, or great deviousness in doing something Gibbs really wouldn't like. Tony read the look on his face.

"I'll find him, Boss," he said, grabbed his gun and left at a run.

As soon as he was in his car and heading out of the yard, he speed dialled.

"Probie, where the hell are you?"

"Outside Izzy's, Tony. There's something going on…"

"McGee, stay in your car. Don't go in…and don't draw attention to yourself! You hear?"

"Sure, Tony. I'm down the road a bit –" 

"Well stay there, and wait for me! You shouldn't have gone without backup…"

"It's OK, Tony, there's nobody around…"

Tim's voice stopped abruptly, and even over the airwaves, Tony heard the click of a gun being cocked. He prayed it was Tim's, and floored the accelerator. The Mustang snarled, and leapt forward, but the roar of the engine didn't conceal the next sound that Tony heard… a crunch and a cry, a thud and a clatter that made him screw his eyes up in horror; the unmistakable sound of the Probie being brained.

**AN: Well, OK, at least the action begins…**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: If 'The Harsh Truth', who reviewed McGroom, is reading this, sorry would have replied but the site didn't give me a link, so I couldn't.**

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 5

Inez looked out of the sitting room window for the tenth time, jiggling with impatience. "He's late… the meal will spoil…"

"Young men are always late. Staring through the window won't make him arrive any quicker…Come and help me for a minute, _querida_, the roast needs another basting."

Inez reluctantly tore herself away from her vigil, and joined her mother in the kitchen. They went on with the preparations for the meal for a few more minutes, until there was a knock at the front door. Izzy suppressed a smile as her daughter rushed to answer it. "Come on through, Earl," she called, as she lifted a covered dish of vegetables out from the warming oven. "We'll serve up right away!"

There was no answer, and this time she didn't disguise her smile. She hoped they'd closed the front door before they started kissing, and not entertained the neighbours…

Inez backed in through the kitchen door, stumbling a little. "Mom…"

Izzy looked up in surprised pleasure at the word, but then froze in utter shock; two men with guns stood there, another man between them, his head down, looking at the floor. The serving dish fell to the floor and shattered, splattering butternut squash and onion all over the floor. "Ken…" she gasped out. "What…"

A third man was closing the living room curtains. "Bring them in here, sit them down," he ordered. Izzy attempted to place herself between her daughter and the guns. "There's no need for that, Miz Starling," the man continued. "All you have to do is sit quiet and co-operate, and nobody gets hurt. We're not in the business of harming women."

Izzy thought the man's voice had the ring of truth, but she'd have been alarmed if she could read his mind. 'Wish I could guarantee the boss feels the same,' Hoyt Parker was thinking. Izzy took him at face value, and sat down on the sofa, wrapping her arms round her daughter, but unable to drag her eyes away from her soon-to-be former husband, who was pushed down into an armchair.

"Ken… what's going on?" Starling didn't answer, wouldn't look at her.

"M-mom…" Inez said shakily… "Mom, is this my _dad_?" His eyes met his daughters for a tiny moment, then slid away.

Izzy nodded bleakly; yes, and a poor, weak excuse for a man he was showing up as… she'd rather Inez had never met him, than come face to… not face; face to top of head with him like this. She glared up at the man who'd given the orders. "Tell me what's going on? Why have you come here? Why have you brought him here?"

"All in good time, Ma'am." His politeness astonished her. "He has something our boss wants… or rather you have."

"I have? _I_ have?" Isabella was incredulous. "If you mean drugs… I was never involved in that… if your _boss_ knows anything about us, he must know that! I don't have anything from those days… I never did!"

"Only know what I've been told, Ma'am. I was told to bring him here and wait, so wait is what we're going to do." He sniffed. "You might want to go and turn the meal off before it spoils. Grey'll go with you."

Izzy rose silently and went into the kitchen, squeezing her daughter's shoulder as she did so. Inez stayed where she was, looking at the father she'd never known, and who hadn't wanted to know her. Her thoughts were tumbling. The uppermost, overwhelming one, more than the fear of the men with the guns, was that she didn't like what she saw. She didn't want to have this man's genes. She didn't want to go through life knowing this was half of what she'd come from.

So, now, how much life did she have left to go through, anyway? What was going to happen when whatever they were waiting for…happened? Men with guns… the only ones she knew were Tim… and his friend Tony who sometimes came to the airfield with him… they wore their guns with such confidence, as if they were just everyday pieces of equipment, like… a doctor's stethoscope. Oh, poor analogy… opposite end of the healing scale. She'd have to remember that one when she came to write her first best-seller. If she… she was back to square one with her thinking, and she shuddered.

Through the kitchen door she could see Isabella pushing squash and fragments of porcelain into a dust pan. It was dark outside; and she thought how late Earl was. She was actually glad that he hadn't turned up; she hoped that whatever had delayed him would keep him all evening. So of course, that had to be the moment there was a knock at the door. The leader of the gunmen glanced out, opened the door and closed it hastily as soon as the newcomers were inside. One man was half carrying and half dragging another, and Inez screamed as Tim McGee, bloody and dishevelled, was thrown haphazardly down on the sofa beside her.

NCISNCISNCIS

"DiNozzo, you wait until we get there!" No marks for guessing what DiNozzo's response would be.

"You know I can't promise that…"

Gibbs tried once more, heaven only knew why… "McGee didn't wait, and look where that got him!"

"Well, I'm forewarned… just get here, Boss!"

Tony threw his cell phone down on the seat beside him and concentrated on his driving. He'd get a headslap sooner or later… later would be his first choice. He was still upwards of ten minutes away, with the jolly sound of McGee's skull being rung like a bell resounding in his ears, and he didn't want to kill anyone, or attract the attention of a traffic cop, but he didn't want to slow down either.

It seemed as if every possible delay that could happen did; every traffic signal saw him coming, and the large lady cycling purposefully ahead of him up an avenue lined with cars knew her traffic laws. She didn't have to give way for him, so she didn't, moving on her stately way at her own pace. He breathed deeply as he dropped down to second gear, watching the incredible undulation of the good lady's substantial behind with morose fascination. There had to be a saddle under there somewhere… oddly enough, the distraction calmed him somewhat, so that as he finally passed her, it was with a cheery, if sarcastic 'Thank you!" as he gunned the car away again. Why couldn't he have one of those lights like Starsky had for his Gran Torino…

The manufactured cheer didn't linger so much as a second, and by the time he killed his lights and then his engine, and coasted down through Izzy's neighbourhood, his heart was pounding again. He pulled over a good hundred yards away, in a pool of shadow on the opposite side of the road to get a good view. Tim's NCIS saloon was just ahead; Izzy's car was on her drive, with a FWD that he didn't recognise parked behind it. Beside the house was a black Maybach; $400.000, maybe? Tony's heart both rose and sank; Mr. Big was here. Unlike his predecessor Pascoe, Nickless kept to the shadows… so if he were here, something was going on. Well, out in the open meant arrestable, but of course it also meant many henchmen, with many guns…

Tony checked his extra ammo clip, frowning to himself. He knew that Maybach… or else it had a twin… but where had he seen it before? He got quietly out of his car, crossed the road to a house with no car in the drive and no lights on, went up the drive and into the back garden. It wasn't a neighbourhood with rambling shared back lots; Ken Starling would never have chosen something too accessible, he reflected, but a few careful jumps over fences, and he was in Izzy's garden.

The kitchen window was open, and a delicious smell of pot roast floated out on the evening air, but there was no-one in the room. He'd seen that the drapes at the front of the house were drawn, but as he inched round the side path, by the water butt and the greenhouse, towards a small window that he remembered, and almost fell on his knees with thanks when he found that things couldn't have been better. The curtain was closed, but carelessly; there was enough gap for him to look through, but enough cover to shield him from anyone looking out. He drew his gun, stilled himself completely, and peered in.

It took all his self-control not to swear aloud. They'd had the guy under their noses… the shadowy Nickless who never came out into the open… Mr. Nicholson of the classy little Jabiru; Mr. Nicholson whose demands habitually gave poor Margaret a hard time at the airfield… where, of course, he'd seen that Maybach. He had to admire the man's nerve, keeping his aircraft at the scene of his predecessor's downfall. He must laugh himself silly every time he drives by that patch of burned grass. Well, hubris goes before a fall…

NCISNCISNCIS

Earl could hear both sides of the conversation on the car-phone, and he sat still and kept quiet. His new boss was furious.

"What do you mean, blown it?"

"_The guy was sitting in his car, two doors down. Aldo thought it looked like a fed car… the guy was talking to someone on his cell, and watching the house. He heard him say 'there's something going on', so he dragged him in. He's got a fed. badge… NCIS – who the hell are they?_

Nickless exploded into unprintable language. "So now the feds know…"

"_What else could Aldo have done, Boss?" _Parker was braver on the phone than face to face with Dale Nickless. _"Maybe we should just get the hell out of here… he got a message off, they're going to come… maybe you should stay away…"_

"I'm at the end of the street, you pratt! We're going to get that stuff before they get here, and then, and only then, can you 'get the hell out' of there. I'm bringing the kid… he knows where the stash is, we don't even need Starling."

Then why had they gone all the way to Abilene to fetch him, Parker wondered; but hell, he knew the answer. If Pascoe had been vicious about people who crossed him, he was mild compared with the man who'd assumed his mantle. People were going to hear about what happened to Starling… oh yeah… he almost felt sorry for him.

The Maybach jerked to a halt, its well bred German suspension protesting, and a moment later, Nickless strode into Izzy's living room with Earl trailing in his wake trying to look invisible. It worked. He took in the scene with one bleak glance. "McGee…" he said coldly. "Might have known."

The young agent sat leaning back against Izzy, while Inez bathed the side of his head. He was white as a sheet, and glassy eyed, blood running down his collar and onto his shirt, and he looked well out of it. Nickless didn't take that at face value, but he wasn't a threat for the moment. He walked over to him, and kicked his ankle hard. The agent grunted, lifted his chin, and looked at him as balefully as unfocussed eyes could. Outside Tony looked through the tiny gap and winced.

"Did you alert your friends?"

"Yeah," Tim said lazily. "All of them." His head fell forward again as Inez tried to wash the blood away. Nickless knocked her hand away and yanked McGee's chin up.

"How many?"

Tim thought that was a stupid question. "I _told _you… all of them." He couldn't hold his head up, and Nickless shoved him away with a force that snapped his head backwards and rattled his teeth, then spun to face Starling. Outside, Tony ground _his_ teeth, listened without much hope for the sound of approaching vehicles, and wondered how to lower the odds.

"So, Ken… or _Adam Power…_" the chief laughed contemptuously, "Where's the stuff you stole from my friend Pascoe?" His voice went soft and casual. "Thanks for ratting him out, incidentally. And McBride too… you did me a _power_ of good…put me on the throne…where's the stuff?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Nickless pulled his gun. "Ken, sweetie, we haven't time for this… we're going to be surrounded by feds any time now…" 

"I don't live here any more… I don't know where they might have put it…"

Inez gasped with horror. "We haven't –"

Nickless gave that horrible mirthless laugh again. "Peace, Miss Starling; it's nice to see chivalry isn't dead. Well, that answers my next question. He'd sell you out rather than tell the truth… so there's no point threatening you. I'm well aware you don't know anything about it. Or your mother…What about your wife, Ken?" He reached down and dragged Izzy out from behind McGee, with a large hand round her upper arm. Izzy cried out with pain, and then again as he jabbed the gun under her jaw. "Where's the stuff, _Adam_?"

"I haven't got it!" Starling yelled.

Dale Nickless had very little patience at the best of times; his gun cocked; the noise filled the room. He'd just shoot the stupid moron in the gut, and they'd find the stash without him while he bled out…

"Mom…" Inez screamed in absolute panic, sure that it was her mother who was about to die, and the sound of her terror burned its way into Tim's addled brain. He launched himself haphazardly from the sofa, and threw himself at the drug lord. Nickless was knocked onto his backside in a rather undignified manner, and his vicuna jacket was smeared with the agent's blood as he went down. Humiliation was not something he dealt with well, not his own at any rate, and his eyes were murderous as he leapt to his feet. From outside, Tony could see things going to hell in a bag of do'nuts, as the man threw down on his friend, lying on the floor. Tim was seconds from a bullet in his brain… no cavalry arriving… the SFA swung his gun behind him in the darkness and smashed three panes of the greenhouse.

All eyes swung towards the window, pandemonium broke out, and Tony scarpered. Thinking on his feet, he ran back into the rear garden; he couldn't take the impending gun-battle onto the street, where curious neighbours might come out and have their gawking cut short by a stray slug. He couldn't disappear back the way he'd come and wait for Gibbs; running out on McGee and the girls wasn't any sort of option, so he looked for cover.

His shirt was a neutral green, not so bad as white would have been, but he wished it were yesterday when he'd been tasteful shades of navy… He dived into a patch of shrubs; knowing that the moment he fired, the Sig's muzzle flash would reveal his position, so he scouted out another position to run to, as two guys came cautiously round the house, one from each side.

DiNozzo had been around guns for twenty years now, and could remember every time he'd killed, not that he'd ever tell, or even permit anyone to raise the subject; and he knew he couldn't debate the matter now. McGee was face down on Izzy's floor, and he somehow didn't think that Nickless's plans for her and her daughter were much better, but as he squeezed the trigger fast, twice, without any doubt that he'd done the job properly, his guts twisted. It amounted to cold blood. Remember Probie…

There was another guy, cautiously looking round the water butt, who raised his gun and fired hopefully at the shrubbery, and Tony snapped off a couple of quick shots although he knew the guy had good cover. Nevertheless, he heard the man yelp as a chip of flying stonework dislodged by the SFA's second shot nicked his chin. He leapt towards his next planned position, intending to yank the wooden garden table over and duck behind it.

In the kitchen, aware that two of his men were already down, Nickless heard Aldo's yelp and sighed. He was murderously calm now, rather than murderously enraged. He rather enjoyed the feeling. Seemed he was having to take matters into his own hands again… He could see the garden table, and since it was the only piece of cover possible, he knew the attacker in the darkness had no option but to go there. He bet it was that other fed, DiNozzo. As Aldo fired again, and the man began his dash, Nickless got a clear view of his back, a broad swath of green fabric, and picked him off without any difficulty at all through the open window. The agent landed across the table, slid bonelessly off it, and lay still.

**AN: Some people like cliffies, some hate 'em… I'm stopping here, I need **_**food….**_


	6. Chapter 6

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 6

Gibbs stood for a brief moment staring at his phone after his SFA disconnected, then he grimaced. The situation didn't leave time for him to stand there worrying about DiNozzo's trouble-magnetic ass. McGee was already in deep, which certainly meant that the Moreno women were… He turned to Ziva. "Go quickly," she said, anticipating. "I will alert Ducky, and follow in my own car."

He nodded, and found Fuller, Cassidy and Blossom on his heels. As they stepped into the elevator, Gibbs looked at Paula, who stood checking her gun, silent, white faced and tense. More to relieve his own feelings than anything else, he snarked, "You see why I have rule 12?"

The Ice Queen didn't even raise her voice. "I never could understand that rule. It doesn't matter whether or not you date, or _do _anything… if you have the feelings the damage is done. And you can't stop feelings."

Gibbs didn't have an answer to that. As they ran across the parking lot, he saw Kent Fuller tear his sling off and throw it away. So… he had an ad hoc team. Fuller shrugged. "You promised not to go without me." As they jumped into the car, he added thoughtfully, "Besides, I owe DiNozzo."

Paula was not the sort to defer, but she also was not in the mood to endure Gibbs if he was still on her case; Cuba was history now… She got into the back seat as she simply didn't want to sit by him. It was likely, she thought, that they never would get on; she could live with that. Fuller pushed Blossom under his legs in the front, and simply hoped it would be enough to keep the little dog safe, as Gibbs started the car. Paula leaned forwards, bracing herself – she knew about Gibbs' driving – and asked him what he meant.

"He's never said anything? I mean… if you and him talk…" Paula just shook her head. "The day after I came out of the hospital, he turned up on my doorstep with Blossom. He insisted she was pining. She looked pretty well to me, but he wasn't having it. He waxed eloquent about how sad she was… I was quite sure I didn't want another dog, not after Tony, but DiNozzo thought he knew better. He was right… I told him so the other day. Blossom and I are made for each other. My family love her… and DiNozzo thought I didn't see the look in his eyes as he handed her over." He reached down and patted her. "She _does_ make you love her…"

He sighed. "A few days after that, we found out that Pearson's brain damage was catastrophic, and permanent. I stayed at work… couldn't take my mood home. There are things you _have _to protect your family from. DiNozzo turns up, drags me down to your NCIS gym, taunts me to wale all hell out of everything in sight, including a few swipes at him –"

"Any of them land?" Gibbs asked softly.

"Oh, yeah. Then he hauls me off to the nearest bar. I'd have sworn in court that he'd he matched me, shot for shot, but when I was completely lashed, he half carried me out of there, and let me sit in his car and _cry,_ damn it all. Then he drove me home, and solemnly handed me over to my wife."

"He can't be her favourite person, then," Paula said wryly.

"You're kidding, right? Sue thinks the sun shines out of his fundamental orifice, my eldest girl would want to marry him if he wasn't, I quote, 'a bit old'… He still checks up on me… he helped me get through it, Special Agent Cassidy." The DEA chief looked across at Gibbs, whom he actually outranked. "Your agent, your lead," he said. "I'll defer to you on this. But if I get a clear shot at Nickless before you do, I won't wait."

He fell silent, and Paula became aware that she'd not noticed Gibbs' driving at all, even though they were going very fast. Either he'd wanted to hear everything that Fuller was saying, or he didn't want to make Blossom uncomfortable. Yes, that must be it…

Gibbs kept his eyes on the road, and his thoughts to himself. Was it only a couple of hours ago... seemed like a hundred years… since he'd been surmising what Kent Fuller had just confirmed. What was it with his SFA? He'd drive people crazy with his juvenile antics, but turn himself inside out to help someone else… he didn't doubt that Tony was about to do just that for the one person he drove the craziest.

McGee was hurt, that much was clear from what DiNozzo had said. The Probie had taken him literally, lacking the experience to take a wider view. Even though he often showed an ingenuity and cunning that belied his greenness, and even though, under the SFA's less than gentle tutelage the latent backbone and Probiegut were emerging more and more, he wasn't ready to be sent off on his own. How had he let him think he was? Dammit, he'd let himself be distracted by a cute dog of all things, it was his fault, not the Probies, that he was in trouble… and Tony would have a hard job not to join him.

His phone buzzed.

"Gibbs," Ziva said urgently. "Neighbours have reported hearing shots fired at the Starling house. LEOs are at the scene. I have informed them that NCIS agents, and a retired naval officer and dependant are involved; they have agreed to cede jurisdiction when you arrive. I am only minutes behind you. But the fact that they got there first means –"

"I know, Ziva… a full scale hostage situation. Get here as quick as you can." He disconnected. Up ahead blue lights were flashing.

NCISNCISNCIS

Tim knew why he was still alive. His head was clearing; the thought that you're about to get a bullet through it tends to focus the brain… The distracting crash he'd heard outside, that was Tony… had to be. He really hoped his friend wasn't alone, as the goons rushed out of the sitting room, leaving him with the girls, and Ken Starling.

Tim tried to sit up, and Izzy , already on her knees beside him, steadied him from behind. He screwed his eyes up, as a wave of pain and nausea swept over him, took deep breaths and willed it to subside, as he tried to listen to what was going on around him. The pain didn't ease, but the nausea did, so he risked opening his eyes.

"Izzy… Help me to stand up…" He kept his voice to a whisper.

"You shouldn't, Tim, you're hurt…"

"Ssh… I can't see any of them… if there's no-one between us and the front door…" he threw a questioning glance at Starling. "You coming?" The other man rose hesitantly, and they hurried towards the door, Tim stumbling in the lead. The way seemed clear, and they were only ten feet from the front door, when a figure stepped from a side door. Inez said joyfully, "Earl!"

Her mother looked at the gun in the young man's hand, and the way his eyes slid away and wouldn't meet Inez's, and said, "I might have known. I should have damn well known!"

Inez didn't cry, or accuse, or demand an explanation. She lifted her chin, and said something quite incredibly rude in Spanish. Her mother automatically opened her mouth to reprove, but there came the sound of two shots from outside. Tim's eyes widened. "That's a Sig," he said. "Tony." About half a minute later there was the sound of a different gun, and then two more rapid reports from the Sig. Bare seconds later a third weapon fired, and then there was silence.

Tim swayed, as fear grabbed at him. He couldn't speak; the women didn't understand the implications of that silence. Had he just heard Tony die? Nickless walked unhurriedly into the hallway, taking his time about holstering his gun. A Browning, Tim thought wildly. Did that gun just kill Tony?

"You can't be thinking of leaving, surely?" The drug lord's voice was relaxed. His second in command came up silently, and just as silently gestured with his gun. They all moved back into the living room without a word, with Inez trying to kill Earl by shrivelling him with a venomous glare. It didn't work, since he didn't look her in the eyes. Izzy was glad to see it; fury, she felt, was a much better reaction than heartbreak.

Tim tried to look through the kitchen window into the night. It was very dark outside by now, and if it hadn't been, the crashing pain in Tim's head wouldn't have let him focus at that distance. "Looking for your friend?" Nickless asked smoothly, and a moment later his fist thumped hard, fast and without warning into the young agent's stomach. He grunted, and would have gone down but for Izzy, who held him up and helped him to stagger back to the couch.

Nickless backhanded him across the face, sending pain racing through his head, down his spine, along his limbs, and skittering away through his fingers and toes. "_Your friend,_" he yelled, "Just killed two of my men!" He backhanded Tim again, and raised his hand a third time, but Izzy stepped in between them. When she realised what her mother was doing, Inez joined her, and the two stood glaring defiantly.

From behind them, Tim muttered, "Don't, Izzy," and Parker moved a step closer, wondering how he could intervene without bringing the boss's wrath down on himself. He'd meant what he said about not harming women… but self-preservation would win, he guessed. There was a noise at the back of the house, and with some relief he went off to investigate.

Nickless sneered at Tim, and said, "Oh, he needs women to protect him?"

"No," Isabella Moreno said, drawing herself up to her full five foot three. "But we will." She glanced across at Earl, holding his gun pointing at his feet as if he'd rather dangerously forgotten about it, and hovering on the fringe of the scene. "Him," she spat. "He was one of yours all along?"

"Oh, no," Nickless said, enjoying himself. "He was one of _his_." He gestured disdainfully in the direction of Ken Starling, and Izzy turned to her former love. "You set that jerk on your _own daughter_?" She made an inarticulate noise of rage, and was only prevented from attacking him with her bare hands by the return of Parker, with the other surviving henchman, dragging a bloody, stumbling Tony between them.

DiNozzo raised his head and actually grinned through pain. He nodded at the curtained window. "You hear that?" he asked. They heard. Sirens were approaching, and in a moment blue lights scurried across the ceiling as they found their way over the tops of the drapes. "We have a real live hostage situation here. You should know, your only hope is not to harm the women." His sagging knees went completely, and the two men holding him let him fall. Nickless took two steps and stood over him. "Or the Probie," the downed man added. "He's harmless, and the Boss is kinda fond of him. Not a good idea to cr-"

The drug lord cut him off with a vicious kick in the side, and followed it with another, to the right shoulder. That tore a scream of agony from the man on the ground, and he attempted to curl himself up; Nickless simply went behind him, and kicked the shoulder again, over the entry wound that his own bullet had made in the agent's back. Tony cried out again, but not so strongly, his eyes beginning to roll in his head, and his attacker grinned in anticipation of delivering another kick to his kidneys, when he suddenly stopped, as his glance fell on Ken Starling, back in the chair where he'd spent most of the evening.

Nickless had seen a few things in his time, but the sight of a man who'd forgotten to be in fear for his own life, while he leaned forward, smiling almost lasciviously, to watch the life being kicked out of someone else, was something that surprised even him. "You sick bastard," he muttered, and strode out of the room. Earl trailed after him.

Tim slid down with a grunt of pain, onto the floor beside his SFA, not really able to do anything, but needing to be there. Inez dropped down beside them, but her mother faced up to Parker, who'd stayed to guard them. "He's bleeding badly," she said. "I need towels, and something to make bandages."

Parker nodded. "Get what you need," he said. "But if you try anything, I'll shoot him." She was back in a very short time, and Parker went back to where he'd been, trying to look through the curtains without moving them.

Izzy sighed. She felt beyond immediate fear or panic, wondering in a detached, analytical way, if what Tony had said had made any impression on their captor. It didn't matter; just now she had two seriously hurt men to care for; she'd cross the bridge of protecting her child when she came to it. She began to remove DiNozzo's blood-sodden shirt.

NCISNCISNCIS

They spotted Tony's car in its patch of shadow, and McGee's saloon; both well outside the police cordon. There were four police units, an ambulance, a couple of trucks, and a helicopter with a Night Sun. Damn circus, Gibbs snarled to himself. Ziva pulled up behind, and hurried over. "Ducky is on his way," she said quickly.

Gibbs nodded. "Can you do a recon?" he asked her. She looked up at the helicopter, dubiously. "Hell, I'll get rid of that," he reassured her.

"Then I will not have a problem."

"Good. Stay back here, then, and when it's dark, go spy. And keep us in the picture," he finished warningly. Ziva smiled; she was getting to understand that things were done differently here, and she melted into the darkness as Gibbs and his colleagues strode off towards the police presence.

Inside the house, Dale Nickless peered from a dark upstairs window, and echoed Gibbs sentiment about circuses, except that he wasn't so polite.

"What do you want to do, Mr. Nickless?" his new shadow asked.

"Find the stuff. You said it was in a cement sack in the shed. I'll find out from the women if there's a back way we can sneak out by. Shoot the men, take the women for bargaining with, and get the hell out."

"If there's no back way… er, Mr. Nickless?"

"Still use the women for bargaining. Go find that stuff." As he made his way back down the stairs, he was calculating. He was short on support now; Aldo Gigli and Hoyt Parker were dependable but his new recruit was an unknown quantity. He didn't detect much competence there, or for that matter backbone… and there were a lot of police out there. He'd have to see how heavy the stash was... if he could carry it all himself, he could shoot them all and disappear over the back fence, and he would if it came to it. His face wasn't familiar to anyone, he'd just walk back into the shadows.

He went back into the sitting room, where Izzy had done a good job of bandaging Tony's shoulder. She'd also finished bathing and dressing Tim's head wound, and both men lay with cushions under their heads, seemingly unconscious. Nickless didn't bother with either of them; he dragged Inez to her feet and put the muzzle of his gun against her neck. Now, Miz Starling, time's wasting. Tell me what's beyond your fences." 

"Other gardens," Izzy said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice and holding her daughter's eyes. "Other gardens just like this one."

"And you'd be fine with showing us the best way out, when Earl comes back with my property?"

"Yes… leave my daughter behind and I'll show you a safe way out…"

"Oh, you'll show me anyway, Miz Starling."

Parker said, from his watching post, "The chopper's pulling out. The searchlight flickered, and came and went, then it died. I think it burned out."

"Good," the drug boss said, pushing Inez back at her mother, and going over to join him. "Darkness'll make it easier."

Izzy saw the corner of Tony's mouth lift in the tiniest of smiles, and she and Inez bent over him as if tending him again. "It pretended to burn out," he whispered. "They want it dark without arousing suspicion. Gibbs is out there. And Ziva. Just hold on, Izzy. You'll be safe soon."

Well, he thought a moment later, famous last words. Earl came rushing back in from the back garden. "Mr. Nickless! There isn't a garden shed! There's a patch of bare ground about the right size, but there's no shed!"

Ken Starling jumped up defensively. "That's where I put it," he yelled, thinking he'd be one: blamed, and two: dead any moment. "Isabella, where's that shed? What have you done with the stuff from it? What have you done, you stupid tart?"

The two injured agents pushed themselves up, with difficulty, until they were sitting up. It was clear trouble was coming, and they drew the women close in a gallant but not too hopeful attempt to protect them. Izzy knew that her next words would probably mean death for them all, and yet there was the trace of a smile as she answered.

"The shed was old, and rotten. It leaked. All the tins of paint in there were solid, and the tools were rusty. The bags of building sand and cement had gone solid too, and the sacks were spilling. It was an eyesore. The contractors who removed the secret room tore it down for me, and we put it and everything in it into their dumpster. Your stash, _darling_, is in a landfill somewhere."

**AN: Not checked for typos, my eyes are starting to revolve independently of each other. One more chappy I think…**


	7. Chapter 7

Blossom's Revenge

Chapter 7

"Gibbs…" Ziva spoke softly. "They are all together in the sitting room. That is the one at the front of the house with the drapes closed. Except for one, who was left upstairs to find out what the police are doing. Nickless was wondering why they had not attempted to make contact."

"You heard that?"

"I was on the roof at the time, outside the window." She went on quickly; she had seen enough not to wish to waste time with interruptions, and Gibbs understood. "The kitchen window is open, although the door has been locked. They are not thorough enough with their security. Tony and McGee are both injured; the women are unhurt. I believe time is short."

She waited patiently while Gibbs thought. "Diversion," he said tersely, after a moment. He spoke briefly out of the corner of his mouth to a cop who was resting his nightscoped rifle on the roof of his car.

"Yeah, he's there… middle window," the cop confirmed without moving his head or his gun. Aldo, thinking himself invisible, would never know he'd been made – until it was too late.

"You go back up there, take out the one upstairs. He's in the middle room." Gibbs paused a moment as Paula muttered something urgently. "Cassidy'll come in through the kitchen window while their attention's elsewhere…." He outlined his plan , and disconnected.

Paula thought, 'well, that was painless', having expected Gibbs to disagree with anything she said, and waited for the signal to move. Rule 12 be stuffed… Tony was hurt, her friend Izzy was in danger, she'd do what the situation required.

Gibbs spoke briefly again, this time to the senior cop, and a moment later a young officer in riot gear stepped forward, carrying a Gillespie pneumatic ram. "Officer Dan Robinson, sir," he said politely. "I know Izzy, and the house. I'll get you in, sir."

Gibbs nodded approval, and the senior cop lifted a bull horn. "This is Metro PD," he called. "Like to talk to Dale Nickless."

NCISNCISNCIS

Starling stood dumbstruck for a moment, as Nickless began to laugh. Before long, he was guffawing loudly, amused by the irony of it all. "Carefully taken… a teaspoon at a time… for how many years, Kenny? All that work…in a _dumpster…_" The obscene, derisive laughter went on and on…

All eyes were on the drug lord's outburst, except for Tony, that was. He was watching Starling, because his gut told him that was where he should be looking. Starling was looking at Izzy, who still had that slight smile. That, coupled with the mocking laughter, sent the would-be millionaire over the edge. Mouthing insults he threw himself at his former wife, reaching for her throat. Tony stuck out a foot, since it was about all he _could_ do, and brought him down before he could reach her.

That, of course, transferred his attention to the NCIS agent, the man who, he'd not forgotten, had lured him into a trap and tricked him into giving away what he'd done. Still mouthing incoherently, he simply transferred his attack to DiNozzo, pummelling his chest, his bandaged shoulder, his ribs, his face, and finally grabbing him by the shoulders and banging his head on the floor. It was Parker who impassively stepped in and hauled him off, throwing him back into the chair he'd just jumped up from.

The federal agent grunted and slumped back, awash with the worst pain he could remember since… no, he didn't want to remember… and tried to stay conscious, as Izzy and McGee tried to help him. "No… McGee…" he couldn't make himself clear.

Inez understood. "Sit back, Tim," she said softly. "Let Mom help him, you'll just make yourself worse."

Tim muttered an agreement; his head hurt so much he couldn't move it, and although he didn't want to frighten the women by saying so, by now he could hardly see. The blurred, swimming vision had the same feeling as seasickness, and he fought off nausea. He suppressed a groan, drew his knees up, and rested his head on them. Through the nausea and pain, he heard Tony whisper.

"Probie, back-up."

He thought about that. Slowly. The Glock strapped to his left ankle was within reach for the first time all evening, and Inez, kneeling beside him, was masking his movements from the bad guys. But that was the first problem; he wasn't going to use her as a shield, under any circumstances. The second, of course, was that he couldn't see to aim it. What was it that Tony wanted him to do?

Nickless finally stopped laughing, and looked at his second in command in surprise. Parker shrugged awkwardly. "Man's a sleazebag, Boss," he said rather embarrassedly.

"You're right," his boss said, suddenly totally calm. He went on, conversationally, "You know, this time yesterday," and he glanced at Earl, "I'd never even heard of the two million. It's not the not having it myself that bothers me – there's plenty more. It's the fact that a thieving, conniving jerk like you did. And now you don't." He lifted his gun, aiming at Starling, then Tim, then Tony. "Time to get out of here. Get up, Miz Starling, and Miss Starling, you're coming with us."

"That's Miz Moreno," Izzy hissed, and refused to get up until the gun was aimed at her daughter. Inez rose very slowly, the gun began to swing back towards Tony… and at that exact moment a whole rank of searchlights lit up the curtains, and a loud voice, warped by the unmistakable tinny twang of a bull horn, shouted from the road outside.

"_This is Metro PD. Like to talk to Dale Nickless."_

Nickless whirled towards the sound. "How the hell… they don't know me… how'd they know my name…?" He glared at his two henchmen, who both looked blank; no, Parker looked blank, Earl looked about to have another accident with his trousers.

"Pulled your name on Tuesday," McGee said thickly, and Tony winced. He didn't doubt the action had started, but Probie was going to get himself killed before Gibbs could do anything. Brave, Probie, but bad idea…

"Not just us… FBI, DEA, ICE," he butted in. "They all know you…"

Nickless hesitated only a moment. "Never mind," he went on, grabbing Inez. "They don't know what I look like."

Tony rolled his head to face him. "Sure they do, … they've all seen you looking after that nice little aircraft over at Calderstones."

Izzy looked thunderstruck. "I _knew_ I'd seen you before… you're the one who thought you'd step on my plane! The nerve –"

"Ssh,Izzy," Tony admonished, and gasped at the effort it took. He looked back at Nickless. "I _told_ you… your only chance of staying alive –" there was a loud thud from the room above as he spoke – "is to let the women go unharmed."

The drug boss pushed Inez away from him; she stumbled and dropped to her knees beside Tim again. "Go and see what that was," Nickless hissed at Earl. The kid looked petrified, but didn't argue. As he went out into the hall, the door exploded inwards, and before he could even get his dithering brain to signal his hand to aim the gun, he was on the floor with a marine knee in his back.

Nickless aimed again at the two injured agents, but then he heard the back door crash against the wall. He and Parker ran to the kitchen, guns raised, to find a two pronged attack, from a cool blonde woman and a tall, angry man. Parker swung his gun up automatically, before it actually registered that he was facing a woman. She shot him in the chest without hesitation, and he fell without a sound. 'There you go,' he thought, as his life ebbed away, 'who'd have thought it? Still wouldn't hurt one… no way to live…"

Finding himself ignored, Ken Starling looked round, and began to get to his feet. Out through the French doors in the dining room, and no telling how far a man could get in the confusion.

"No." A calm voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to face his daughter, levelling Tim's Glock at him. The young agent had managed to retrieve it with fumbling fingers, and passed it to her in the confusion. "This time, _Dad_, you stick around and face your responsibilities."

Tony, his head in Izzy's lap, and incapable of doing another thing, heard the Probie drawl in a mid-western accent that was pretty good considering, "Shoulda stayed in Kansas, Mr. Power." The SFA was still chuckling as he lost consciousness.

Paula kept her gun levelled and went to the sitting room door, as Kent Fuller ordered Nickless to drop his weapon. "You're the one who beat my agent to a vegetable," he said. "I'd really like you to resist arrest." The drug boss hesitated, then opted for life and a good lawyer, and began to raise his hands.

It would all would have been over, but for the long forgotten butternut squash. A splash of it that Izzy hadn't noticed during her nerve-wracked clean-up lurked in wait, and as Kent stepped forward to relieve the other man of his gun, he felt his foot begin to slide. He overbalanced and landed on his back, with a grunt of pain as it hurt his still tender shoulder, and found himself looking down the barrel of Nickless's gun before the healing arm could take aim again.

"Oh, he was _yours,_ then. I really despise spineless –" Kent heard a growl of recognition; a vicious, angry growl such as he'd never have believed Blossom to be capable of, and Nickless screeched in pain as needle-sharp teeth sank into the back of his calf and clamped on. The furious dog kept pulling backwards, until Nickless in turn lost _his_ balance, and fell sideways. His temple connected hard with the corner of the breakfast bar, and he went down and didn't get up again.

Kent Fuller climbed wearily to his knees and pulled Blossom away, petting her comfortingly; her hair was standing on end and she was shaking from head to foot. "Easy, li'l girl… you did a good job." She looked up at him for reassurance, and he stroked her head. "You remembered, didn't you?"

He went to cuff Nickless, and observed, curiously, that the drug chief's face was slack, and his hands curled into tense claws. The wound on his temple was deep, the skull clearly fractured, and he thought "No… ridiculous…" He stood up, and headed for the sitting room, with Blossom at his heels.

NCISNCISNCIS

The room seemed to be overflowing with people, milling and mingling in a weird parody of a society cocktail party. Ziva was handing over a bewildered, relieved to be alive Aldo Gigli to the cops; Paula was describing to Gibbs how she'd shot one man dead in self-defence. He walked over to the kitchen, looking at his agents as he went by. He wanted to attend to them, but he was in charge of a crime scene here. Fuller was with them. He looked into the room, and took in one dead, one unconscious. Two paramedics, instructed by the police, came to take the injured man, and as Gibbs went back into the sitting room Fuller called him furiously.

"Triage be damned, Gibbs! These are _agents_ that need a medic, and they go to that dirtbag?" The team leader crossed to them in three quick strides. "DiNozzo's still got a bullet in him," he went on angrily. "He's not doing so good, and McGee can't see properly. And he's in pain." At his side, Blossom whimpered anxiously, and nudged Tony hopefully with her nose.

Gibbs looked at his SFA, whose head was still in Izzy's lap, and who wore nothing on his top half but red, darkening bruises and improvised bandages. He ran a thumb over Tony's forehead, and the SFA muttered something that could have been 'boss'. He didn't try to lift Tim's lolling head, as he slumped against Fuller, but peered at his battered face closely, and squeezed his shoulder. Tim's "Boss..." was stronger.

From the other side of the room came the most welcome sound that evening. "Ah, Jethro…"

NCISNCISNCIS

Outside the hospital lobby, a slim, dark haired woman in her early forties and a boy of about fifteen stood waiting. Kent hugged them, and handed Blossom over. Sue Fuller touched her husband's face gently, and he put his hand over hers and squeezed.

"Fuss her plenty, hmm? She's a little hero." He grimaced. "She had her revenge, Sue."

His wife looked sad. "Larry. Well, you'll tell me… go on, go see how Tony is."

He kissed her, but couldn't speak, and as he went off towards the ER entrance, the Spaniel, horror forgotten, scampered away with his family.

Time crept by, Abby arrived, Gibbs calmed her down – it wasn't as if they'd never done this before. Ducky vainly tried to persuade Gibbs to sit, and was about to get very sharp, when a doctor hurried towards them. He was short of stature, and Gibbs went for intimidating straight away; he didn't really know how else to play it– he'd done this before, too.

The doctor simply looked up and said, "You're anxious. That's why I hurried. If you'll just stop looming over me, I can tell you about Agent McGee." Gibbs took what was for him, a slightly disconcerted step back, and the doctor continued.

"Agent McGee, as you know, received a severe concussion due to a blow to the top of his head… this was exacerbated by several more blows to the face later. The soft tissue round his eyes is bruised, add to that the severe and prolonged pain caused by the concussion, which was left untreated for several hours; that was enough to cause vision problems; but there's no permanent damage. He needs complete rest, and pain medication, and he'll make a complete recovery if he's not allowed to rush things. We plan to keep him in for two days, but if all's well after that, he can go home as long as he's not alone."

He looked at the tall, earnestly nodding young woman who stood at Gibbs' shoulder. "I can see that won't be a problem. He's sleeping, but you can go and see him. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about the other injured man, someone from the trauma team will bring news as soon as there's any to give." He waited to see if there were any questions, then asked them to follow him. Gibbs hesitated. He couldn't be in two places at once.

Fuller said, "Go see McGee. I'll stay here and wait for word on Tony, and come and tell you."

Ducky said he would go, but would return as soon as he'd seen how Timothy was. Apart from his own concern for both young men, he knew he was sometimes needed as a translator of medical jargon for the others, especially Jethro. Paula said nothing, but it was clear what she'd do. Gibbs, Ducky, Ziva and Abby all trooped away after the doctor.

Kent got two cups of tea from the vending machine, and sat down beside Paula. As he handed her a cup, he said thoughtfully, "So, rule twelve? Something about dating a co-worker by the sound of it."

"Most of Gibbs' rules that I've heard of make sense. That one's stupid. Thanks for the tea."

"How long…"

"We're _not._ We're both players. We just hook up from time to time. Tony's fun, is all." She shut up again, and he didn't push it. They sat in silence, sipping the hot liquid, until Ducky came back.

"Timothy is doing fine," he said in answer to their silent enquiry. "He has suffered a great deal of pain, which is very debilitating of course, but that's under control now. He seemed to have some anxiety that he was going to be blamed for what he did today, but Jethro was remarkably tolerant about that… I have no idea what was going through his mind… no news of young Anthony, I take it?"

Kent shook his head, and then looked more closely at the ME, whose wise and kindly face was somewhat clouded. "What is it, Dr. Mallard? What are you thinking?"

"Ah… that sometimes it's very difficult to think what you _ought_ to think, and not what you _want_ to." He took a deep breath. "Anthony told me about poor Laurence Pearson. Now, I'm a Medical Examiner, and I know the sort of wanton violence that must take place in order to cause injury such as his. So am I wrong in thinking there's a certain justice in… well, I enquired about Nickless on my way down here; it's impossible to assess how much at the moment, but apparently his temple was completely stove in, and there will be permanent, and possibly severe brain damage… dear boy, I'm so sorry, I should have put it a bit more gently…"

There were tears running down Fuller's cheeks, and he passed his hand over his eyes. "Poetic justice… I told my wife that Blossom got her revenge…" his blue eyes flashed, still glittering with tears. "Dr. Mallard, don't feel guilty about your thoughts…I'm not sure I wouldn't rather he'd rotted in hell."

He was saved from what he imagined would be the disgust of the old ME's reaction, by the entry of a doctor, still in her scrubs.

"Dr. Mallard… we always meet under these circumstances… Agent DiNozzo lost a lot of blood; his shoulder blade was cracked when he was kicked, and the bullet was driven up under his collar bone, which would have caused great pain. We went in from the front to remove it –" she handed it to him in an evidence jar – "We felt it was better to do that than dig through all the bruised tissue on his back. He must keep the arm immobilised until we say he can move it, and then he'll need some physiotherapy, but we expect him to recover full use of his arm." At that point she did a double-take. "Agent Fuller! I didn't recognise you with your clothes on, as they say. How is _your_ shoulder?"

"Oh, fine since you fixed it, Dr. Brand. Can we see him?"

"I'll send someone to fetch you as soon as he's settled. You know the drill, Dr. Mallard." She smiled and went back to her work.

He didn't look too bad, all things considered, Paula thought, as her gut finally began to stop the churning it had been doing ever since Officer David had reported that he was hurt. She'd been to see him in the aftermath of the plague, and thought 'only you, DiNozzo', but her gut hadn't churned like it did now.

She took his hand – the one that wasn't strapped to his body under the hospital gown, then she put it down again. She caught the surprise in Fuller's blue gaze, but didn't hold his glance. She sat silently for a while, watching DiNozzo's still face, the eyelashes flat and unmoving on his cheeks, and finally said, in a low, hard voice, "I said we were players."

"You did."

"He is. I am. But… he wanted to change that. He wanted more. I… I was afraid. I've always been afraid… of _this_… I – I can't do this. I _can't_ love him." She stood up. "Tell him… tell him, I hope he feels better soon… tell him not to call me…"

Fuller watched her as she struggled, thought of how his wife had handled this, realised just how much he was loved, and finally said softly, "If you _did_ love him, you'd do this. As many times as it took."

"Yeah… I guess." She turned and left the room quickly, nearly knocking Gibbs over as she went. "Rule twelve," she snapped at him. "You were right." She walked away with her chin held high.

Tony's eyes were open. "Boss…. Probie OK?"

"He's fine, DiNozzo. Or he will be…"

"He did good, Boss. He's got guts. Hey… Kent… you OK?"

"I'm doin' fine, Tony. What about you?"

The injured man looked at the open door and shrugged his one good shoulder. He pulled his goofball personality round him like a cloak and smiled wryly.

"Guess I could do with a beer."

The End

**AN: I don't know anything about brain injuries, or the damage that causes them. And it may be a little contrived, but if you've read my GCC you'll know I like karma.**


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